


Unable and Unwilling

by Alethia



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Brad POV, M/M, Originally Posted on LiveJournal, Porn Battle, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-29
Updated: 2009-01-29
Packaged: 2018-05-15 22:07:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5802007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alethia/pseuds/Alethia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There were different kinds of blindness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unable and Unwilling

**Author's Note:**

> This story is based on the fictionalized characters in the HBO miniseries, Generation Kill, as written by Ed Burns and David Simon and as portrayed by Alexander Skarsgard, Stark Sands, and others. It is a work of fiction ergo it never happened.
> 
> Written for Porn Battle VII. Prompt was "blind." Originally posted [here](http://oxoniensis.livejournal.com/394717.html?thread=22920669#t22920669) and [here](http://alethialia.livejournal.com/347321.html#cutid1).

"No. Fucking. Clue," Brad panted, punctuating each word with a rough thrust of his cock into Nate's ass.

Nate groaned and braced one hand on the headboard. His legs tensed against Brad's shoulders, cock swaying heavily each time Brad thrust in. 

He'd wanted to _see_ Nate, wanted to watch him fall apart. Not that he hadn't done that at the goddamned paddle party, but at least this was in a good way. 

Well. A better way.

At least it wasn't Nate smiling his damned ghost smile as the guys told stories that defined him, that they'd always remember. All while Nate sat watching, accepting the praise, smiling like each word was another knife to the gut and it was only a matter of time before he bled out completely.

Brad had enough of that look in Iraq, thanks very much.

"Not possible," Nate groaned, arms flexing as he shoved himself onto Brad's cock every time Brad thrust _in_.

"You didn't _do_ anything, didn't _say_ anything," Brad panted. He grasped for control, some kind of distance when all he could feel was Nate's ass – hot and tight around his dick – and all he could see were Nate's eyes and the desperate, broken look they held.

"Since when do we _say_ anything?" Nate's indignation got caught in his throat when Brad adjusted his angle. He sucked in a gasp and haltingly continued on, "You should've seen."

And that really chapped Brad's ass; Nate had a fucking point. What good were legendary powers of observation if they couldn't show you what was on offer?

Then again, Brad had always thought his 'legend' was some fucking bullshit spewed by a bunch of ass-clowns who could barely recon their own dicks, much less anything else. Compared to their goat-fucked incompetence, Encino Man might as well be MacGyver and Captain America was James fucking Bond. 

Brad reached out and curled his hand around Nate's cock. He pumped once, twice, then stopped. Nate kind of mewled and tried to get more, but oh, no, Brad had a point here.

He didn't stop reaming Nate's ass, though.

"You weren't exactly obvious about it," Brad growled. Sweat trickled down Brad's chest, though his muscles didn't protest Nate's weight. He could keep this up for a while.

Nate had the most fucked-out looked of pained-pleasure on his face; it made that unbearable heat claw further into Brad's gut.

" _Incredibly_ obvious. Mike kept asking when my boyfriend would be coming 'round," Nate managed to stutter out. His free hand detached from the covers and moved toward his cock.

Brad slapped it away. He once again gripped Nate's cock and stroked, torturously slow, in counterpoint to his thrusts. 

Nate moaned like death would be too kind. He moved against Brad, just perfect, body laid out for the taking.

"Coulda been doing this the whole fucking time," Brad breathed. He let himself feel the flex of his muscles as he shoved himself in, the tightness around him, the soft hardness in his fist. The unpolluted goodness of it – after Iraq's constant clusterfuck – made Brad's hands tremble against Nate's skin. Nothing else ever had.

"So wrong," Nate mumbled.

"Like I give two shits."

Brad watched Nate's face, thrusting all the while. Something played across it, some kind of guilt, even after he'd brought them all home.

"I couldn't be the one…couldn't break you. Couldn't trust myself–"

Brad stopped moving entirely, ignoring his cock's protest. "Oh, fuck you and your God complex."

"Brad, please–" Brad had dreamed of Nate begging like this. Any other time and he'd be coming already. Any other person and he wouldn't be pissed yet still want to nail him through the mattress. 

Fucking Nate.

"Hear me, CFB: you're not my keeper. It's my fucking call."

With that, Brad pulled out and fucked in again, finding the rhythm he'd abandoned. He stroked Nate in earnest this time, urged him on with careful swipes to the head of his cock. 

Nate keened and promptly came all over Brad's fist, calling out Brad's name. 

Coupled with his ass squeezing tight around Brad's cock, it had Brad flying, coming harder than he could bear, pleasure so forceful it edged into pain and back again. 

They were _both_ shaking when Brad regained himself.

"Iraq would've been better with that," he mumbled.

"Copy that."

***

Fin.


End file.
